


Officer-Involved

by leiascully



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Gen, Gun Violence, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-08-23 22:38:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16627757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: The first time Scully took someone's life in the line of duty.





	Officer-Involved

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: S5ish  
> A/N: For a tumblr prompt.  
> Disclaimer: _The X-Files_ and all related characters are the property of Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, and Fox Studios. No profit is made from this work and no infringement is intended.

It’s so easy.

It takes no effort at all to squeeze the trigger, exhaling as she does. Center of mass. Three shots. He goes down like he ran into an invisible wall. The holes in his chest are small and neat, clustered together, rimmed and then running with red. The holes in the back of him will be larger. She knows that. But when he’s on his back, the perforations look so small. Almost harmless. 

Mulder’s running to the guy almost before he hits the ground. He kicks the knife the guy was holding out of reach, just in case. There’s already blood on the blade. They’ll have to take it into evidence. Scully checks her weapon automatically, clicks the safety back on. She knows she should leave it off until the situation is entirely resolved, but she also knows he’s never getting up again. She’s usually the one who does the post-mortem; she’s never been the reason there was an autopsy before.

How many delusional supposed vampires and werewolves and ghouls and monsters has she brought in without a hitch, hands cuffed behind their backs? She’s been scratched and spit at, bitten and bruised, and never resorted to using her weapon. Apparently all it takes is one man strung out on PCP to make her a murderer. The law won’t see her that way, probably; the law doesn’t always recognize a sin when it sees it. 

Mulder checks the man’s pulse and shakes his head. He shifts to keep his shoes out of the red puddle spreading underneath the corpse. “No chance,” he says. He stands up and comes over. His hand settles over her shoulder. “You did the right thing, Scully.”

“No,” she says. “Mulder, I didn’t.”

“Scully, he’s so high there’s no way he would have stopped. I’ve seen guys like that before. They don’t stop for anything. You couldn’t have done anything else.” Mulder swallows hard. “He would have killed you. He would have gone through me and he would have gotten to you. You saved both of us.”

She says nothing. He squeezes her shoulder gently and then steps away to call the people who will clean up after her. Who will fence the area off with yellow tape and document every inch of it in painstaking detail. Who will check the corpse for signs of life and zip it into a bag with no airholes. Who will measure the distance between the knife and the corpse. Who will find a way to exonerate her, but not to wash her clean. Who will take custody of her weapon and assure her it’s only temporary. It will be temporary for her. Nothing will ever be temporary ever again for the man she shot.

“You were scared,” Mulder says softly, but she wasn’t. She wasn’t scared. She was trained. She doesn’t know how to tell him that. She practiced at the range the way she was required to. She rehearsed endlessly for this situation. 

She made the right choice. She didn’t do the right thing.

When all of it is over, they go back to the hotel. The officers murmur at her: not your fault jeez what a big perp nothing else you could have done a little thing like you glad you’re all right. Scully strips off her suit and climbs into the shower. She turns it as hot as she can, but she can feel herself shivering. Shock, she thinks, the rational and detached part of her brain running diagnostics on her malfunctioning body. She stays in the shower for a long time, until her fingers are wrinkled and her lungs feel like overfilled sponges. She could wring herself out. Her skin stings, pulled tight around her. Her vision blurs at the edges. She puts on her pajamas even though it’s only four p.m. and wraps herself in the extra blanket from the closet.

Mulder knocks a little while later. He comes in with dinner. She doesn’t want to eat. She doesn’t want Chinese food to be the first thing she’s eaten since she killed a man. She loves Chinese food. She likes the memories they’ve made, the cases they’ve picked apart as Mulder picked all the water chestnuts out of the lo mein. It’s a relief when he opens the bag and it’s just a ham sandwich, the kind from the gas station that’s barely edible. She can eat that in this moment of penitence. She can go without gas station ham sandwiches for as long as she needs to, after this. There’s a bottle of root beer to wash it down. She doesn’t always like root beer and he knows that. There’s a kindness in his choices. He has a turkey club and a bottle of iced tea. He settles on the corner of her bed. It’s a poor excuse for a picnic, but they’ll make do.

“I got chips,” he says, but she shakes her head.

“Scully,” he says. “You saved our lives today. I hope you know that?”

Her life, maybe. Her immortal soul, maybe not. She may have coveted another woman’s husband. She may have bent a few other rules. But thou shalt not kill: that was sacrosanct. And then, in a moment, as easy as breathing, it wasn’t. 

“It won’t be easy,” he says. “But you’ll see that, one day.” 

“I killed someone,” she says flatly.

“You had to,” he says. “I know you don’t or can’t believe that, Scully, but as usual, I’ve got faith for us both.” He puts his hand on top of hers. “I wouldn’t trade your life for his. Not for anything.”

“I got a miracle,” she says. “A second chance. And I used it to end someone else’s life. Is there justice in that?”

“You make a difference every day,” he tells her. “There was only one way to stop this guy. You did it. I’m sorry I didn’t do it first, since I know how it’ll weigh on you, but you’ve always been quicker on the draw.” He offers her a lopsided smile. 

“Have you ever…?” she asks.

“Twice,” he says. “It’s tough to get through. But I believe I’m here for a reason, and I believe you are too.” His thumb rubs the side of her hand. “Pray on it, if it will make you feel better.”

“I will,” she says. “But we should eat.” She tries to smile. “Thank you for the sandwich, Mulder.”

“Kind of a sad reward for saving my life,” he says, “but I’ve got a while to repay you.”

“Yeah,” she says. “You’d better.”


End file.
